


Two sides of a coin

by Buttermyeggrolls



Series: Shoelaces [1]
Category: Orignal shit TM
Genre: Angst, Death, I plan on making myself suffer, I'm only writing this for my dad, Like loads of it, Mentions of Mental Illness, Multi, Orignal shit man, Other, This is only on here so I don't lose it, enjoy i guess, fictional and real, if somebody doesn't cry then I've failed, original plot lines, orignal story - Freeform, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttermyeggrolls/pseuds/Buttermyeggrolls
Summary: I'll update this as I go probably





	Two sides of a coin

In a place, a long, long way from here. There's a hill. Laden with copper marigolds and yellow daisies. And on that hill, a long way away, is a door. White paint, that chips at the sides, splintered and cracked from old age. A handle, thin and rusted. Orange, with long gone gold twinges. Dents and bruises batter the frame, and vines creep and twist around it. But all is not lost, on this doorway. For at the very top, in silvery writing reads.  
'Avaahan lept noir, panahon saa gian.'  
To love in darkness and sorrow. 

They glisten and glimmer, humming with want and desire, singing promises of love and riches to one who opens the door.  
This door, with no back to lead anyplace, and a battered and dirty frame, whispers to all who approach it.  
And from our point, many, many years away. We can see a girl, young, and unprepared. We can see a girl, who crosses the field of copper marigolds. We can see a girl, who reaches out an obscured hand, from behind a navy blue cloak, and tugs at the door.  
And the door, with a moan of splinters and aged wood, opens. We can see a girl, who's form blocks whatever's behind the door from view. We can see a girl begin to tremble, and slowly, she turns her head. Her face, aged beyond her years, twisted into a look of torment and horror.  
"Don't." She whispers, her voice no louder then the light wind that rustles the copper marigolds. And then, there is nothing but an inky blackness, and loud, tormented scream.

And a boy, a hundred years away, wakes up.


End file.
